


The Definition of Royalty

by orphan_account



Series: Fics for Haremstuck [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Awkward Lisping, Bed Sex, Bulges and Nooks, Dancing, Eridan's POV, Harems, Haremstuck, M/M, POV Second Person, Sex, Slight Psionicplay, Stubborness, Submissiveness due to Status
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2014-02-22
Packaged: 2018-01-13 08:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1219828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eridan Ampora has an inflated opinion of himself. For the Haremstuck AU, which can be found at http://haremstuckau.tumblr.com/ <br/>If the idea of harems make you uncomfortable, you can this as a sex role-play between Eridan and Sollux.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Definition of Royalty

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first smutfic, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

You are Eridan Ampora, and you are royalty. You wear the finest silk, gold, and jewels, lounge on the choicest pillows, and can eat and drink the most expensive food to be found. The fact that you are the member of a harem is a mere technicality. You are the favorite dancer of the Sultan Sollux Captor, the owner of a vast and prosperous empire.

He's currently not being so subtle about staring at your ass with smirk on his face. You refuse to look at him, instead focusing on moving your feet and hips. When you catch sight of his face again, he's grinning. A fluttery feeling begins in your stomach. You know what that means.

It's your job to please the Sultan, and please hi you will. How gently he is depend on how well he likes your dance. You remember one time you took a misstep and were sore for week afterward. He guessed that you'd enjoyed it and was correct, though you never showed it.

You finish your dance. The Sultan applauds, then beckons you to his bed chamber, dismissing his guards and other servants. You fold your arms but do as you're told. The door to his chambers closes. You can feel the breath on the back of your neck. You shiver.

"That was quite a performance." the Sultan whispers, hands resting lightly on your hips. It's almost cute, the way his lisp pervades his speech when he gets excited.

"Stop tryin ta flirt wwith me and get on wwith it." You sniff. It disgusts you, how he can ravish you any way he wants without your permission, but still feels the need to seduce you.

He lightly sqeezes your ass and snickers. "You really want me to?" His scent is intoxicating, deep and woody, but with a rich, almost sweet, overtone. It envelops you and you feel as though you could drown in him, be surrounded by him and be perfectly sated and content.

"Yes." You say firmly. The Sultan withdraws, but you can feel his eyes devouring you. 

"Fine. Have it your way. Take off your clotheth and lay on the bed."

You remove the silk and jewelry that caresses your skin, trying to suppress your arousal as you know he will soon be caressing you. You lie down on your back on the bed, spread you legs, and blush, painfully aware that his gaze is taking in all that you are. He smirk and reaches forward to slide a finger into your nook. You grit your teeth against the sensation, determined not to make a sound. 

The Sultan brings the finger to his mouth, licking you off it. You're sure his eyes are staring straight into yours, so you look down. You are not allowed to look him in the eyes.

He crouches between your legs and rubs your bulgeslit. You moan despite yourself. You can feel every ridge of his finger prints against the sensitive organ. Your breath hitches, and you can practically feel him smirking. You close you eyes as he teases your bulge out of it's sheath. It twines through his dexterous fingers and you moan again. You tilt you head back and pant as he strokes your bulge, sending waves of pleasure through your system that make your muscles lock and your toes curl. He leans forward and kisses you, sliding his tongue over your teeth. It's all you can do to pant and whine into his mouth.

He pulls back and runs a thumb over the lips of your nook absentmindedly. He strips and you shiver, suddenly needing his warmth in you an around you. You lean back against the headboard, trying to ignore the way your bulge and nook ache. You're just about to touch yourself when he sends an electric current through the tip of your bulge to your shame globes and you wail. Your bulge thrashes around desperate for release. 

He chuckles and watches, just watches, you moan and almost sob. 

"Get over here, you-" You bite your tongue. Insulting him won't get you laid.

The Sultan's double ochre bulges are unsheathed, and he strokes them as he watches you. You grit your teeth and turn your attention to your own bulge. If he's touching himself, you don't see why you shouldn't touch yourself. 

You run a hand down your bulge, it flutters into your palm and wraps itself tightly around your wrist. Your skin is smooth, and you keen against the sensation. 

The Sultan ignores his own bulge in favor of yours. You admire his control and patience, not that you'd ever let him know. He expertly strokes your bulge, but you growl at him to fuck you already. 

His hands move to your hips, smearing them with purple and gold fluids. You shiver and clench your teeth. His hips slide into yours, one bulge slipping into your nook, the other tangling with your own bulge. You moan as he starts moving, brushing against the walls of your nook. Your bulge practically knot together as your moans mingle. His thrusts are slow and languid. You can feel yourself stretching, struggling to take him. He kisses you, but you twist your head away and spit his taste out of your mouth. You hate that he likes kissing you. You hate that he wants to own not only your body, but everything that you are. You hate that you want him to.

The Sultan smirks when you reject his kiss, then sucks at your neck. You've got a pulsing bulge in your nook and another on your own, the mouth of the richest man on the continent on your neck, and you've never felt so adored and wants in your life, even though you're being used. You release the tension in your body. 

He lashes and twists inside you, setting your nerves on fire. Every pleasure spot in your body is raw and exposed, and it's terrible and wonderful and too much and you're not going to last long. 

His head hangs low, hair brushing against your chest. "Eridan," he pants, "look at me."

You whimper and look into his eyes. Red and blue orbs stare down at you.

"Thay my name." he says. It almost sounds like begging. "Eridan, thay my name!"

"Sollux." You whisper. He thrusts deep in you, brushing over your shame globes. You arch your back and scream his name. He does it again-once, twice-and you're gone. Purple material spurts over your chests. He helps you ride it out, only leaving your nook when his own orgasm overtakes him. His golden liquid splatters over you and in that moment you don't care. You hold onto him as he sucks on your earlobe. It's the only thing you're aware of until you come down from your high.

When you come to, you realize he's pulled out of you and lays at your side. You grab a towel from under the bed and clean him and yourself off. When you sit up, the Sultan drapes his around around your shoulder and rests his chest against your back.

"That wath good." He sighs as he strokes your earfin. You purr and he purrs back.

You smirk, enjoying your power over the most powerful man in the world.


End file.
